


Perish the Thought

by snowkatze



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 11:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19440844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: Crowley doesn't like thinking about the reason why he likes to sleep for so long sometimes. When he can't escape the pain, Aziraphale comes to visit him. It feels like being rescued.





	Perish the Thought

It hasn't really been Crowley's day. His week. His month. Or even his year. It hasn't been his century, really.

Even though hell may be a real place*¹, sometimes hell as a concept is a spot in a London apartment, in the corner of a king-sized bed, and it's inhabited by one singular demon.

Sometimes, thoughts come crushing in like bombs in a war that hasn't happened yet.

Sometimes, self-loathing is an ocean and he is drowning in it.  
  
Sometimes, happiness is the sky and he's falling from it.

Sometimes, Crowley uses too many metaphors. But it's been a long century, and he's a bit too tired to care. In this concept of hell, the devil has Aziraphale's voice. He says things like: “You're a demon, I could never like you” or “This is your fault” or “Let me show you this magic trick”. In this concept of hell, sloth is the most tempting of vices, but also the most punished. Sleep brings nightmares. Nightmares bring pain. Pain brings - thoughts. _Thoughts_ make him very, very tired. The whole cycle probably derives from a perverse sense of hope – hope that sleep will bring forgetting, peace without nightmares.  
  
There's a noise in the hallway. For a moment Crowley perks up and considers what kind of lonesome forlorn creature feeding on misery and pain might have found its way into Crowley's apartment. Maybe a demon of the nastiest kind. Maybe someone looking for a fight, for trouble, to make a mess. Crowley closes his eyes again.  
  
The noise gets louder, there's some rumbling. It occurs to Crowley that the plants are in the hallway. He opens his eyes half-way and watches the door. Suddenly it opens and – the devil steps in.

“Crowley!” he exclaims and smiles that disgustingly sweet smile of his. All just to torture Crowley. “You're awake!”  
  
“This is all your fault, you know?” Crowley murmurs. “Hope is way too... heavenly. Angelic. Must be one of yours.”

“You're talking non-sense again, dear,” Aziraphale chastises him, but the smile remains on his face. “You've been asleep for weeks.”

Crowley blinks.

  
“Have I? Well, then I best be getting back to sleep.”  
  
“You will do no such thing. There's so many things I've been meaning to show you. Books you need to read. Restaurants we need to visit.”  
  
_Thoughts_ don't tend to stick around when Aziraphale is here. Maybe they don't like the smell of his soap. Maybe they're afraid of the light. But there's no place for Aziraphale in hell*².

“Leave,” Crowley says huskily. “Come back in a century or two.”  
  
“My dear, you're being ridiculous! Get out of bed at once. I can make some pancakes.”  
  
“Go away, Mom.”

“You are being very rude.”

“I'm a demon. We're rude. Get over it. Or better yet, don't. Leave. Get over it when leopard prints have gone out of fashion and then we'll talk.”

“Well, at least you're not talking about _centuries_ any more.”

“You don't know how long Snooki is gonna stay in the entertainment industry.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

“Please, dear. You... You're wasting so much time.”

Aziraphale shoots Crowley a sad look, and Crowley's heart constricts.  
  
“We have all of eternity,” he replies softly. He feels almost ready to relent, but he knows that the devil is not so easily dismissed, from this spot in the corner of a king-sized bed in a London apartment. It's a very comfortable bed.

“You don't know that,” Aziraphale answers just as softly.  
  
Crowley clenches his jaw and looks away. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He closes his eyes and the _thoughts_ come back. Maybe it was the smile, then. Blinding them.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley's eyes remain closed. His breath evens out.  
  
“Dear, are you alright?”

Crowley's lips remain closed. If he'll fall asleep, maybe he'll dream of Aziraphale holding his hand.

“Silly me, of course you're not, you were asleep for weeks. How inconsiderate of me, really. May I ask, _why_ do you want to sleep?”  
  
Crowley shrugs. He turns his head away, draws his knees in. They sit in silence for a long time.  
  
“I thought... it might make the pain go away,” Crowley rasps, keeping his eyes closed.

“Did it?”  
  
Another shrug.  
  
“Sometimes.”

“What... what has got you so troubled, my dear?”  
  
Crowley keeps his eyes firmly shut, his jaw clenched.  
  
“The ineffable plan. Hell. The Fall. But especially...”  
  
“Yes?”  


“Humans,” Crowley lets out a shuddering breath. “They don't need... demons... to do horrible things. They do it all by themselves.”

“Oh.”

“Sometimes, I wish it was all on me. Actually. Maybe then it wouldn't be all so... tragic.”  
  
“They'll learn.”

“I'm – I'm not so sure – I'm – scared.”

Crowley takes another deep breath and focuses on the black behind his eyelids.  
  
“Sometimes, I wish we were still in the garden,” he whispers.  
  
“We would have had to leave it one way or another.”  


“I know, I know. I just... can't stop thinking about it.”  
  
Suddenly, there is a hand on Crowley's shoulder, and he tenses.

  
“Dear,” Aziraphale says and it's never sounded more like a prayer than that. “The garden was a dream.”  
  
Crowley lets go of the tension in his jaw.  
  
“You can't stay asleep forever,” Aziraphale adds.  
  
Maybe the thoughts _are_ scared of the light. Crowley opens his eyes. Aziraphale's eyes are piercing into his. They're directly in front of him. He can't look away.

Where Aziraphale is, there's no place for hell.

_Help me,_ Crowley wants to say.  _I'm drowning. I'm falling, please save me._

“Just,” he says, “bad day.”  
  
Aziraphale tilts his head, like he understands, and suddenly he grasps Crowley's hands. Crowley can't stop looking in his eyes. He falls forward, looses control. It feels like the world is spinning, he looses footing. Then – Aziraphale catches him.

  
“You caught me,” Crowley gasps.

  
“I will,” Aziraphale says. Tears are glistening in his eyes. He nearly chokes on his voice. “I'll always catch you.”  


Crowley clings to him, because he can't be bothered with keeping up appearances. Not today anyway. Aziraphale holds onto him for dear life.

And then, Aziraphale kisses him, as if trying to say: “I've got you. It will all be okay.”  
And Crowley kisses him back, as if tying to say: “I  _love_ you, I love  _you_ ,  _I love you_ .”

Crowley thinks about an eternity full of loneliness. He thinks about beings alone in your mind. About being misunderstood. And then he thinks about the only being that can ever come even close to understanding him being there, in this room, with him.  
  
Seems unlikely, really. Almost like it's – just a dream. But Crowley still has a little bit of faith in him, faith in one angel anyway – so just this once, he'll give it the benefit of the doubt. He can stay awake, as long as there's still that one angel to believe in.

*¹ In Michigan.

*² Or the concept thereof.


End file.
